


When The Dream Fades Away

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Genre: Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 16:35:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16479095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: The future depends on such small things.  Sometimes all it takes is one decision, good or bad.  Sometimes all it takes are a few words, words spoken or unspoken.Warning: this is an AU version, and does not comply with the other after-the-war stories I've written.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Timing: Soon after the end of the war.  
> Where it fits in my storyline - After 'Duration Plus Six Months', but this is an AU version of the events that follow. For that reason, it will NOT be in accordance with all my other post-war GG stories. 
> 
> My thanks to JustineMarie for the Challenge: 'What if the guys all survive the war, but DON'T all stay together in Brandonshire afterwards?' This is a one-shot response to that Challenge.

Wednesday:  
They were cleaning out the file cabinet, deciding what to keep, what to shred. "Meghada, what's this? Should we keep these? I recognize this, Expansion One. But the rest? Expansion Two, Expansion Three, Expansion Four. The Cottage is just like what this first blueprint reads." M'Deana had only meant a casual question in line with the job at hand. The pain on the face of her older 'cousin' made her regret asking the question, made her slip the plans back into the folder and go on to the next section quickly. "The Flowers list, that stays?" and M'Deana had calmly re-filed that folder, pretending that whispered 'yes' had sounded just as it should have.

Meghada waited til M'Deana and the other youngsters went to inventory the storage rooms before she went and pulled out the file, took those expansion plans in hand and gently traced the outlines with her finger. So many plans, so many dreams. She had failed in so many ways. Oh, not in all ways. She had still protected her Treasure as best she could, but not as a Dragon truly should. After all, it was far more difficult to protect from afar, and her Treasure, what was left of it, was spread out over so many thousands of miles. Sometimes she thought it was a good thing the Dragons were so rare anymore. The modern world perhaps was too strong, perhaps the Dragons becoming too weak. No, she refused to shift the blame to any place other than where it belonged. 

"I was too weak, or maybe I just wasn't smart enough, or perhaps I tried too hard. Maybe I . . . ," she told the empty kitchen where she'd envisioned her extended family, her Treasure, sitting, if not in harmony, then in congenial bickering and teasing. As it hadn't for some time, the music, the words came to her, and on the back of one of the blueprints, her loss poured from her and became a song, one she knew it would break her heart to sing. A choked sound, not a sob, surely, for a Dragon wouldn't be crying, and she gave it a title 'If He Walked Into My Life'. 

Carefully, she refolded the plans and tucked them back into the folder and put them away. Perhaps the next Clan member to take over the Cottages could make use of them in time; they truly had been well thought-out. Perhaps someone else would be strong enough to turn this place into the Enclave it had been intended to be. She knew the one arriving later that day would take over the watch, had already been briefed on the remaining bits of her Treasure, would be on the lookout for them, for any sign they might need help. Would give that help, as they deserved.

She headed to the bedroom to pack the last few of her things away, prepare the small valise that would contain a change of clothes and the red dragon sculpture Goniff had given her. That was all she would take with her, other than the collar around her neck The rest had been sorted through, divided and given away as best she could; some things had been moved to the storeroom for others to use as they wished. She needed little, after all. She was headed to the castle in Scotland, the one Logan had settled in so long ago, far up, where she could let her Dragon fade into the mists. It wouldn't take long, just the journey there, one last walk up that rocky path, one more remembering of each of her Treasures, then she would fade. So many of the Dragons did that, just fade away. She'd thought, hoped, believed at one time that she wouldn't be one of those. Now, she couldn't disclaim that sound, the sob, or the tears that followed as she remembered all that had been, all that had not. And in the emptiness, she seemed to hear the sound of children, children who had never been, and now who never would be, at least not on this Turn of the Wheel.

 

Sunday, three days before:  
Garrison had spent the last hour remembering. He had been so sure it was what he wanted, all of them staying together, working together. It had seemed it was what ALL of them had wanted. Then it had fallen apart. No, perhaps that was too direct, too concrete an image. Better, perhaps, to say, they drifted apart; the bonds had not been abruptly broken, not all at once, but had grown more tenuous as the physical distance between them grew. Finally, they were more a memory than anything else.

It started with Chief, longing for the training that should have been his birthright. Meghada and her family had helped make that happen for him. They knew there was the chance that training, the calling, would prove stronger than his bond to them, his brothers-in-spirit, but still it had come as a hard blow when they got the letter saying he wouldn't be returning. There had been other letters, not many, and not for long. Well, from what that last letter had said, Chief had found those of a small cluster of Apache who wanted to follow the old ways, who looked to him as a shaman, as a leader, along with an Apache wife, and was intent on making a place for them far away from so-called civilization. While they tried to be glad for him, they each took it hard, each in their own way, those who still remained at the Cottages anyway. By then, when his last letter arrived, others had departed as well.

Actor had been next. Well, he had always been the one Garrison had wondered whether he could settle in a small village and be content. An invitation from an old friend to visit, and he was gone for a month. He had returned, but seemed restless, even Lynn not able to tease him into an agreeable mood. The next month he was gone again, and the time away was even longer. Finally, when he returned, a quiet discussion in the office, just Garrison and Actor, and on the next departure, his possessions had gone with him, his room empty and barren. Letters had followed, sporadically, each from a different place, each in the same hand, but each signed by a different name. Til they stopped.

Lynn had stood apart from the others, watching him drive off, and silently went back to her own room, not to reappear til late the next day, red-eyed and withdrawn. Somehow, his sister's announcement that she was taking the offer from one of her former Handlers to work in the Intelligence field again didn't surprise him. Worried him, saddened him, yes, but not surprise him. Lynn, who would eventually write them of her marriage, but never mentioning the one word they would have expected her to say - love. He didn't think she was unhappy, as such, just resigned to not BEING happy.

Casino hadn't been the same since Chief left, and his not returning from that trip home for his parents' anniversary wasn't much of a shock. Frankly, it had seemed as if part of him had left with Chief, maybe the best part, for his mood had been increasingly sullen and argumentative, the bar fights more frequent, the one-night stands becoming routine. Oh, Goniff had stormed and demanded they 'go get a brick and bash 'im a good one!', but that letter from Casino had helped convince him that Casino really didn't WANT to come back. Thinking back to that letter, reading between the lines, Garrison knew that, despite the promised "I'll visit sometime", that visit wouldn't be happening. The letters continued, though, and that was something at least. Well, he'd always been a good correspondent, though sometimes they doubted the truth of what he was writing; they remembered just how much he would stretch the truth in his letters home to his family to keep them from worrying about him. Garrison had considered asking Meghada to check on him through her sources, but he resisted, perhaps fearing what he would hear. Still, he thought maybe she did anyway; it would be like her to try and lend a hand if Casino needed help.

So it was the three of them, and it was good, on a personal level anyway. But what he'd dreamed of, envisioned, the team working together, that was left in the dust, and the taste of it bitter in his mouth. And while Goniff would have been reasonably content staying in Brandonshire, running the pub, living a quiet life, Garrison found himself increasingly ill-at-ease, like there was something he was supposed to be doing, something he SHOULD be doing. Each reading of the newspapers seemed to make it worse.

When he got the call from Ainsley, he'd at first rejected the whole idea, going back to work with the military; after all, he didn't think any more highly of them than they did of him. But Ainsley insisted this new group was different, they understood, and together they could make a difference, that he was needed. He talked it over with Goniff and Meghada, well, once the slender Englishman cooled down enough to have a conversation with. 

At first, they'd managed. Garrison would come back to Brandonshire between jobs; they would have a joyous reunion, and it would be like before, though the partings never got any easier. Then the jobs got longer, more dangerous; he'd come back with a broken shoulder and a concussion from that little trip to Berlin, and recuperation had been difficult. Goniff had fretted and worried and bemoaned his being out there 'all alone'. Well, he hadn't been alone, but Goniff had just sniffed in derision when Garrison had reminded him of that. 

It maybe shouldn't have surprised him when he reported back to Ainsley and the group to find they'd been joined by a flaxen-haired Englishman who stubbornly insisted, "you aint gonna go out there alone again, Craig! No sense in arguing with me!" And so Garrison had stopped arguing, feeling the guilt at dragging Goniff into danger again, but gave in to the comfort of having him close by. Meghada had arrived soon after, but the group was all male, and although Ainsley remembered the Dragon, knew her worth, the leadership was adamant, and she reluctantly returned to Brandonshire to wait.

When they went back to Brandonshire between jobs, the welcome would be just as warm, just as sincere, but the opportunities for that became fewer and fewer as the missions became more intense, more spread out. It was taking a toll on her, they could tell, as well as them, and Garrison and Goniff had discussed quitting, just going home. But there was always one more job, one more 'last job'. 

Til, it truly was the 'last job'. When luck finally turned against them, and they'd looked into each other's eyes one last time, smiled one last smile, and drew their guns to face what they knew would be their last battle.


	2. Chapter Two

When The Dream Fades Away  
Part II

 

Chief:  
Chief had long felt the pull of what he had been meant to be, what he knew he had the ability to be, but the chances of that had faded in his childhood, when he'd been taken from his shaman grandfather and placed in one of the 'approved' schools. He'd run away, time after time, and finally on his last attempt made it back, only to find his grandfather dead, and no place for him, a half-breed with no one to speak for him.

He'd thought finding his brothers-in-spirit would ease that ache deep inside, and while it did, it never erased the need. If anything, finding them, well, finding Casino, had awoken another need in him, one he'd never imagined he was capable of - a need he was resigned to never being fulfilled, considering how Casino's eyes lit up every time a woman walked by. It was increasingly hard to stand by, wanting what he knew he could never have, watching Casino squander all his attentions on one after another after another meaningless encounter.

Working with Meghada, feeling that arcane spark within her, it had been satisfying, but just proved to him that he was less than what he should be. When she and her family had offered him the opportunity to study with other shamans, he'd accepted, knowing this might be a turning point, a time when what he had might conflict with what might be. He left the Cottages at dawn, turning to look back, knowing it might be the last time he saw it, saw them, and firmed his shoulders to face the future, whatever that might be.

He'd spent time with Lupan and Felane, studying the books they had, listening to the stories, and there, in his dreams, he'd walked the desert and the mountains of his childhood. Had true-dreamed, at least he had thought so at the time, (not understanding that even true-dreams can travel divergent paths), and knew the next step in his journey.

The shamans had, if not eagerly welcomed him into their midst, at least cautiously accepted him as a potential student. The testing had been rigorous, but the outcome positive; yes, he had the potential; yes, they would undertake to teach him the old ways. And so he departed with them into the mountains. Time passed, (and he'd lost all sense of how long it had been since he'd parted from Lupan), and in the final days, he set out on a spirit quest, to fast and meditate and wait for guidance. As he made his way up into the mountains, higher and higher, he remembered his dream while he stayed with Lupan, remembering brown eyes, two different sets of brown eyes, looking into his, smiling, and he had hopes he tried not to dwell on. This was a time for him to be guided, not a time for him to interject his own desires.

On the eighth day, he'd bowed his head in acceptance, and opened his heart and let that need for what he couldn't have melt away, aching as he did so, but knowing he was being guided toward a different future. He thought of Meghada, of her telling of the many Turns of the Wheel, and sent a silent wish, a prayer into the morning sky, {"perhaps next time?"} and set his mind to the task he had been given. Carefully, he bathed in the clear pool, donned the clothes he'd washed the night before in preparation for the journey back.

When he returned, the shamans had welcomed him, and told him of the vision they had been given - Chief leading those who longed for the old ways, those who sought to escape from the modern world, leading them far into the harsh mountains to the south. It took time to gather those of like minds, those willing to make the difficult journey, enough time for him to have sent another letter home. That he still thought of Brandonshire as home was perhaps telling. 

The delay had taken enough time for a young woman of the tribe to catch his eye, and for him to catch hers. Liluye was beautiful and strong, with a good mind and a fierce spirit; and as her father was a shaman, she knew enough to know any shaman, any leader's first duty would always be to those he led, not to his wife and family. He'd not sought after her, though appreciating her worth; his heart didn't feel the pull, though his body did. Still, she'd looked at him, found him pleasing in many ways and thought they would deal well with each other. She saw the sadness within him, and thought maybe she could ease that, though she wasn't naive enough to think she could erase it entirely. She was kind enough not to remark when he called her by another's name their second time together, though what kind of a name 'Casino' might be, she didn't know. And she was smart enough to know if she wanted this man, who had increasingly captured her heart, she would have to accept that was sometimes, when he held her, there was someone else he pictured in his arms. This man, she had determined, was well worth that, and perhaps, someday, it would be otherwise. 

Before they left on the journey, before they crossed the border into Mexico, Chief and Liluye and a good two dozen others, he sent one last letter of goodbye. 

While his thoughts would return, again and again, to those he'd left behind, his duty lay in front of him, and for this Turn of the Wheel, that would remain his focus. His duty, his people, the strong, warm woman he held in his arms at night, and the children she bore him. 

"Perhaps, the next time. . .", she'd heard him whisper in the night, more than once, and she wondered just what he was wishing for, in that 'next time'. Perhaps he wondered the same thing, though probably not. The vision of dark brown eyes never really left him, though eventually she stopped hearing that strange name being whispered in the dark; whether he stopped the whispering, or whether she just stopped hearing, who knows.

 

Actor:  
It had started with that trip to Scotland, the decision to remain in Brandonshire, to call it home. Somehow, with the departure of one of their number, he'd started to question that once again. The letter from Isabella Diego had started the momentum; he'd gone to join her for a job in Madrid, one Garrison would have disapproved of most vehemently, if Actor had bothered to share the details, which he didn't. Wine had flowed like water, the women beautiful and willing and appreciative, and the end result, most lucrative. While he'd found his mind drifting back to the others, in particular to Lynn Garrison, he'd brushed those thoughts aside in the details of running that delightful con. 

Back at the Cottages, somehow, he found it more difficult to fit himself into the conversations, into the ease that he'd once felt among this group. When Georges Marcel had written, offering (all most discreetly, of course) the opportunity to take on an even more elaborate con, he'd smiled and made his departure. The disappointment on Lynn's face, he'd tried to forget. After all, no matter how often she entered his thoughts, she really wasn't his type. And besides, no matter the cons she'd been a part of during the war, that really wasn't her mindset. Why, she'd probably be appalled at that little job in Madrid, or this latest one in Geneva.

After the job in Geneva, he'd traveled some, delaying his return to that little out-of-the-way village in England. Finally, he returned, but quietly suggested he and Garrison have a discussion. Garrison hadn't tried to argue him out of his decision, though his disappointment had been evident. Well, they had all been disappointed, but tried to put on a good face for him. He tried not to remember Lynn's face, the unshed tears. In fact, he found himself trying not to remember any of their faces, for fear the memory would draw him back. 

He sent letters, always from a different place, using various of the names he'd used over the years. As he had refrained from giving them a letter drop, there was no way for any letters to come to him; he told himself it was better than way, refusing to admit he was afraid of what he might hear, the feelings that might re-emerge, too strong to set aside. 

A chill picked up on a job in Stockholm had led to pneumonia, and although he recovered, he was never quite the same, and found himself wanting just to remain in one place. He thought longingly of the Cottages, of those he'd discarded so easily, but felt he'd severed that cord and couldn't go back. 

Finally, he'd taken refuge with the one person he thought he could trust. And in the small back room of the orphanage run by Sister Therese, he spoke with her, though to her mind not making clear sense. The good sister never knew what he meant, but she remembered his words, "perhaps next time I will not be so foolish." 

She'd asked him about that, but he'd just shaken his head, weary and sad, "it is foolish, is it not? Not to recognize when you have been given a great treasure, to toss it away as if it were a pebble from the road? Next time, next time . . ." And then he slid into a deep sleep, and waited the next Turn of the Wheel, when perhaps he would NOT be so foolish.


	3. Chapter Three

When The Dream Fades Away  
Part III

Casino:  
It had been hard enough when Chief left, looking for what he seemed to feel he needed, the training he'd missed out on, maybe something else too. It had been harder knowing maybe I was partly the cause - of him leaving, of him not coming back. Maybe if I'd said something, done something. Maybe if I'd been smarter. Maybe if I hadn't done what I did, pushing, goading him, nailing everything that passed by in a skirt just to see if he'd notice, understand why, maybe give me a sign. Yeah, maybe if I'd said something, risked him decking me or pulling out that blade he still wore most times. Well, Goniff and Chief both always told me I wasn't all that good at the deep thinking shit, and I guess I proved them right. I sat on my ass, didn't say anything - well, nothing that mattered - and he left, and he didn't come back.

Beautiful left after that. Oh, it took awhile, but it was pretty obvious after that first trip that there'd come a time when he left for good. It was pretty obvious Lynn was real upset at that, too, but when I asked her if I should maybe knock some sense into him, she'd gotten bitchy mean, told me if I was going to knock some sense into someone, it should have been someone other than Actor, and "but it's a little late for that, isn't it, Casino!" Sometimes I forget just how smart she is, how much she sees. 

When he finally took off for good, Lynn just disappeared into herself, until the day she told us goodbye. Oh, she came back in between jobs, at least twice before I left to go see my folks, attend their anniversary party my sisters were putting together. She'd hugged me real tight that time, like she knew it'd be the last time. (It wasn't, but that's for later.)

I'd been wrapping myself tighter and tighter, getting into even more fights, ended up crashing the new car after getting drunk and driving back from London that way. Warden yelled, as usual, but didn't seem to put as much heart into it as before. Losing Chief and Actor had been hard on him; he was still trying to figure out a way to put the business together, but between you and me, the chances of that were slim to none, with us being down two guys. 

Then, I just went ahead and torpedoed any chance he had. I went home, well, back to my folks' place, went back, stayed back, at least for a long time. Maybe it was that, without Chief, Brandonshire wasn't as much 'home' as it had been before; maybe it was that the memories were just too strong back at the Cottages. And, to be honest, the way I'd been going, I was gonna get myself killed or cause so much damage the others would be wishing I WOULD leave. I wasn't gonna wait for that to happen, no, not me. I was too smart for that. Yeah, just too damned smart. Don't tell Goniff I said that; he'd already given me his thoughts on my 'smarts', and believe me, the little Limey didn't pull any punches!

Well, the visit home was eventful, anyway. My idiot cousins almost duped me into driving the get-away car for them, the young snots. I figured it out in time, but it made me realize maybe Goniff wasn't far off the mark about my intelligence. Getting involved with an old girlfriend pressed the point home. Shit, maybe being around Meghada and Lynn had changed my way of thinking, but now, a big set of tits just didn't cut it, not when they came attached to a shrill voice and a mind that just kept reminding me of a light bulb that's three-quarters used up. The fact that she slept with anything in pants didn't help. Yeah, I know, I'm the one to talk; all I can say is, she just didn't appeal to me the way she did when I was eighteen. 

I was stuck; I couldn't go back, I couldn't go forward. Couldn't find a straight job; more or less promised the Warden I'd steer clear of the not-so-straight ones. My folks were good, didn't bitch at me (well, much, and that wasn't cause of me freeloading, but because "Casino, you HAVE a home; you're just to stubborn to go BACK home!"). And they were right, ya know - I DID have a home, and I WAS too stubborn to go back. Damn that Limey! I HATE it when he's right!

So, I stayed, still finding a way to put money into that big red and white canister on the kitchen counter. Then, one day, had someone drive up in a big car, wanted to speak with me. Seems Meghada wasn't believing all those pretty letters I'd been sending about how great everything was going; this guy, he had a job offer, and it was even straight. Maybe a little dangerous sometimes, but straight. So I didn't have to make up nearly as much shit in my letters, could actually tell the truth sometimes. 

Wrote regularly and got plenty of letters back, kept up with what news there was. Nothing from Chief, not after he took out for parts unknown. Always had a feeling there was something about Chief those letters weren't telling me, but no one ever admitted to that. Not a lot about Beautiful, just that he was always on the move. Heard about Lynn getting married, then about her being widowed not too long afterwards.

Then, the letter from Meghada, telling me about Goniff and the Warden; well, all that she knew, or so she said. She was light on details, whether that was because she didn't know, or felt it was just better that way. I didn't even have to open the next letter, the one from her sister; I just knew, and wondered who'd be taking over the Cottages now.

I wasn't expecting Lynn to show up at my door, just stood there like an idiot before pulling her into a long hug. We cried together, and I'm not ashamed to admit that, not anymore. Been keeping things inside most of my life, and I figured out finally that that's part of what got things so screwed up. Maybe if I'd spoken up back when I should've . . . Well, I didn't, and that's that. She stuck around for a day or two before she asked what she'd made up her mind to ask. And, ya know, she's right. We're all that's left of something that should have been something really great, before it all went to hell.

So, here we are, the two of us, back in Brandonshire, back at the Cottages. Eventually, with the Clan who are here already, we will turn this into the Enclave Meghada wanted so much for it to be. There's a marker, in the garden, with all our names on it, those of us still alive, those of us gone on, though nothing saying which was which. Well, we couldn't do anything else; we haven't heard anything about Chief or Beautiful, so don't know about them. 

No, we don't love each other, Lynn and me. Well, yes, we do, just not like we loved the ones we lost. Still, it's good, better than a lot of people have, and the kids coming along, they make it better. The Clan treat our kids just like the other cousins, and that's a little different, but all in all, it works out. And maybe, next time around, like Meghada always talked, on the next Turn of the Wheel, we'll get it right. In the meantime, this is the next best thing.


	4. Chapter Four

Goniff:  
What can I say? I always thought I'd be the one to screw it all up, but in the end, it wasn't me, not totally anyway. It really wasn't anyone, I guess. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be; it always 'ad seemed too good to believe.

But I DID believe; there were times believing was all that got me through the war. Believing 'Gaida loved me, 'er and Craig too. Well, that was real enough; I don't doubt that. But the rest? A business after the war? All of us sticking together, in Brandonshire? Making a family, all together? That all fell apart, piece by piece.

We lost Chiefy first, off looking for a piece of 'im 'e'd lost a long time ago. Thought 'e'd come back, though, and it tore at us all when that didn't happen. (Think we lost Casino about the same time, just 'e stuck around some before 'e actually left.) Coo, the number of times we 'ad to go pull 'im outta some dive, some bar fight! It was like 'e was TRYING to get 'imself killed, ya know?

Then it was Actor off and gone. For awhile, after that trip up to that bibliophile's 'ome in Scotland, I thought maybe there was a chance 'e'd stay. But 'e didn't. It was like losing Chiefy was losing the glue that pulled us all together. 

Lynn took off next; I don't think she could 'andle Actor being gone. Always thought they'd make a match of it; me and 'Gaida even designed those rooms special, just so we could make them a suite when they did open their eyes and figure out they were made for each other. We'd 'oped she'd taken off after the idiot Italian, to make 'im see reason, but gave up on that after she wrote she married that bloke she'd met doing 'er Intelligence work. I've 'eard more warmth and passion in one of the recipes out of 'Gaida's cookery books than in w'at was in that letter. Died not too long after, 'e did; seems 'e got really messed up on one of those jobs. Found out 'e'd been in a wheelchair before they got married; seems 'e needed to be married for some family reason, and Lynn was willing. We thought she might come back, but she didn't.

Casino, the ruddy fool, 'e left to go back for 'is parent's party, and didn't come back. Wrote 'im, more than once, asking 'im to come back; me, personally, since Craig was being all noble about "Casino has to make up his own mind, Goniff". Well, between you and me, Casino 'as never been all that good about KNOWING 'is own mind! Told Meghada I was worried, and she just nodded, told me she'd check on 'im, make sure 'e was alright. Did something, I think, cause 'is letters started sounding more real, not made up anymore. Still, wish 'e'd just come back 'ome; think we might 'ave still pulled it off if 'e 'ad. But 'e didn't, and there's no going back, not now.

Me? Well, I'm easy to please, and as long as I 'ad 'Gaida and Craig, woulda been 'appy enough in Brandonshire. But Craig? Coo, started reading the newspapers, started feeling guilty. Why??? Who the ruddy 'ell knows! Guilt is as much a part of Craig as sticky fingers are of me, always 'as been; I blame 'is miserable parents. So, when Ainsley comes calling, trying to pull 'im back, w'at 'appens??? There Craig goes, back into the old routine. Tried to talk 'im out of it, me and 'Gaida both, but when Craig locks down into stubborn, 'e can do it even better than Casino, which is really saying something. 

Well, we let it go for awhile; worried about 'im like crazy, but were there with open-arms when 'e did show up again. Til 'e got really bunged up, busted shoulder, concussion; 'ell, just like the old days! Thought maybe 'e'd be reasonable after that, but no, when Ainsley called again, all ready to 'ead out 'e was.

Don't even like thinking about that talk we 'ad at the kitchen table, me and 'Gaida; 'urts even to think on it. But, we both knew something 'ad to be done; we knew 'e was gonna get 'imself killed without backup, and none of us 'ad all that much confidence in the guys 'e was working with. Not like we'd 'ave with it being one of us. So, I make a call to Ainsley, and when Craig reports in, there's yours truly, waiting for 'im. Got an argument; but just put my fingers in my ears (figuratively speaking) and tuned 'im out. Our 'Gaida tried the same thing, joining the team, I mean, but Ainsley's boss got all pissy, wouldn't 'ear of it, and she 'ad to go back to the Cottages and wait for us, like 'er and me 'ad been waiting for Craig.

Open arms, a warm bed, 'ot food - she never stinted us, though it was easy to tell it was rough for 'er, being alone without us. I kept trying to convince Craig to give it up, and finally got 'im to the point of listening, of promising 'this job will be the last.' Three times over, 'e promised that. 

Well, this time it really is the last job. Not because we're quitting, 'eading 'ome to 'Gaida. No, this time it's because that last job was a set-up; 'ave to wonder if it was the Russians, the Germans, or our own side. Never did really trust that bloke running the show. MI6, CIA - all pretty much the same, never could tell which were on the up-and-up. 

So, 'ere we are, penned down in this filthy alley in East Berlin. There's no way out, not even with all of Craig's smarts. I look over at 'im, those green eyes I love so much, and smile, 'oping 'e'll understand. And I can tell, 'e does. We've stopped needing words a long time ago. Wish we could tell 'Gaida goodbye. Wish so many things. Still, she promised she'd follow after; that the three of us would be together, that it was promised a long, long time ago that that would 'appen. We can 'ear the noise at the other end of the alley, and together, we raise our guns and step out into the open and as I see the flare of the shots, feel them strike, I know we're on our way. {"Craig, 'Gaida - I love you."}

 

Meghada:  
The journey was made in silence, her younger brother Ian driving, not urging her out to take meals even when he stopped, knowing she had no hunger. At the foot of the mountain, at the end of the road, he'd cleared a tight throat to ask, "do you want me to come with you," get the firm shake of her head he'd been expecting. One last warm hug, and she was gone, moving more quickly than he'd seen her move in the past days. 

She'd made it to the top of the trail, then across the wide meadow to the castle, now home to another of her many cousins. She stayed there only long enough to put the red dragon, Goniff's special gift to her, in a niche in the vast library. She changed into the ceremonial garb her Clan had worn for centuries; then, back out across the meadow, and up into the cliffs, til she came to an overlook, where she sat and remembered, bringing each of their faces up in front of her. Where she sat, and imagined their warm arms around her. And when she arose, she stepped forward to the very edge of the mountain, where it overlooked the deep crevasse below, took one last look at the sky, and then took one more, one very long step. The step onto the next Turn of the Wheel, where her loves awaited her.


End file.
